Artist: Unknown
Source: Like Minds, Like Mine
Article by Bernadette McSherry
This is a very interesting read. The Pros and Cons. Jx
Spiral
Artist: Robyn Hancock
Spiral
Revisiting
Revision
Repetition
Twisting
Turning
Navigating
Learning
Spiral
Which direction
Do you choose?
Win or lose?
Inward or outward?
You decide,
Which way to
Live your life.
Spiral
Forward
Onward
Growth
Change
Evolution
Creation
Resolution
Spiral
© Copyright 2016, Robyn Hancock. All Rights Reserved
CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
I decided, given the new year that I would create new poems for this publication, thus giving me a creative challenge.
Casuality
There is a moment immediately after an action
When silence is deaf to itself:
There is only the smell of discharged weapons,
And smoke. Fractured air reverberating
From concussion; the hammering of fire.
Hands slowly disconnect their grasp
From stock and pistol grip.
Sometimes at the second of release
The shaking starts, butterfly wings
In the wind.
But within a minute, perhaps less, quiet rushes
Like a wave to engulf ears, cheeks, lips, the dirt
That is dressed with cartridge cases, belt-link and
– pray God not me – scarlet flowers that resolve
Into dressing pads.
Until like the release of a dam, from trickle to flood,
Come the screaming assault, a drenching in oily whimpering
Signaling men trapped in agony with no merciful release.
And so it goes even after the years have drawn tight
And the memories have been ingested.
One day a man meets a woman. They duel consensually
Drawing blood lightly with humour and intrigue.
But both are wary, carrying lessons from earlier actions
With dressing held ready to staunch the flow.
Copyright © 1994 – Jerry Beale
CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
I wanted to describe how difficult it had been for me to allow anyone close to me after my experiences as a soldier. I felt dirty and damaged, and certain that anybody who looked into my soul would somehow be harmed.
Apopo
Artist: Robyn Hancock
Tomorrow
Future dawn.
Spirit reborn.
Apopo
Creating opportunities for change.
A chance to start again.
Tomorrow
Hope renewed.
Situations reviewed.
Apopo
Time to start a-fresh.
Adopting a different mindset.
Tomorrow
Eternal sunrise.
Celebrating life…
© Copyright 2016, Robyn Hancock. All Rights Reserved
CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
I decided, given the new year, that I would create new poems for this publication, thus giving me a creative challenge.
Working through Cobwebs
Melbourne Street Art – Artist Unknown
Photographer: Jennifer Cox
Photo used with permission
“I’m trying to work through cobwebs”, he said,
with eyes pouring like rain
into a leaky boat
squaring off the shoreline,
heading out to sea
avoiding Redbacks
like the plague. negotiating
rogue waves
behind his back,
facing his fear; ex –
tended arms pull
away – escape
for the moment.
he scans the horizon
left to right that sinking
feeling farther, closer
than he expected de –
Nile; a river in Egypt
too far away to row
a thunder clap into eternity,
Isis turning a blind eye;
Trite – on dragging him
under, spinning
a vortex only Terra –
firma can translate.
taking the bull
by the horns, he finds
solid ground wrestling
Taurus, knee deep
in mud that sticks
like shit on the inside;
cobwebs cling to hard –
wired neurons
lodged in the gaps
in – between grey,
a matter for
black and white.
separate, facts find
fiction fornicating
in a web of deceit
by design, too lurid
for children like
Persephone – abducted
innocence; a metaphor
for rape, choking the Hell
out of life. all the while,
pseudo affection bribes
a hand – full of lollies,
to sweeten the blow.
“I want everything to be saved”,
he said.
© Copyright 2016, Jodine Derena Butler. All Rights Reserved
CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
It’s very sad watching loved ones hurting.
Long Lines of Lies
Photographer: Unknown
I don’t know what to do
when they look into my eyes
expecting
the drawing they made of me
they rewrite me,
insert the cliche that hangs like a slave in the square
I feel their lies
tickle,
nuanced and lovely to the touch,
and me gracefully bludgeoned
eventually they find the door
and drag away their sharpened tongues
and behind
a mind reawakened –
coloured by Matisse
with words sprinkled in the lush greens of grass
Copyright © 2016 (Keith Nunes)
CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
This poem makes sense of what I feel going on around me or at least what I perceive is going on.
Bird
Artist: Hua Tunan
Image used with permission
Morning time. So I leave my door, descending the four steps
Precariously
My feet are bare upon the grass. Its wetness is almost sexual
If not for the cold.
A spider’s web catches the silver promise of light within a single drop
Of moiisture. Such a perfect fragile jewel;
It’s the sound I catch first. An impatient fluttering, daubed with
High-pitched peeps of distress.
Step over the log, my feet finding primordial satisfaction in its
Careless roughness.
The chicken wire lies in a tired bundle, threaded through with grass
And a single impatient thistle.
There. In the middle of the roll. A tiny brown speckled form. A thrush
Trapped within the deaf wire.
Exhausted.
My feet stop. With each step closer, the bird becomes more animated
Beating its tiny form against the wire.
How can I say ‘I mean to help you, to tear back the walls that encircle you,
To give you back your universe? For we are so deeply
Alien to each other.
I am torn. I cannot leave this other life. Yet I cannot help. Energy drains
From me. I am now unnecessary.
A watcher only.
The bird is still. Its chest heaves once. A wing slips and hangs loose,
Askew.
It’s quiet.
I begin to hate the wire.
Copyright © 2002 – Jerry Beale
CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
This poem describes an actual event which had a profound effect on me. It emphasised how separate we have become from the simplicity of nature.
Forgotten Skin
Artist: Nod Ghosh
Image used with permission
He carries acres of skin,
a decadent petticoat, wrapped
around his identity.
He finds a portion
untouched since
the beginning of memories.
A foreign pellicle,
symbiotic lesion,
that forges a crossing through
Lethean shorelines.
He travels to unknown
territory, unravels keratin spirals
bounded by
an integumental sea.
He feels its smoothness,
unremarkable
in doughy caress.
He enters the fourth room
of a three roomed house,
licks himself clean,
like an atheist in heaven.
Copyright © 2015 (Nod Ghosh)
CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
When the meat and veg of life are difficult to chew, Nod Ghosh finds sanctuary in a gravy of words. Forgotten Skin examines the urge to self-mutilate, while Sailfins relates to when a person chooses death over life.
Sailfins
Artist: Nod Ghosh
Image used with permission
She wades
through salt soaked shallows,
searches for pipi,
hopes for kina, with
a bucket on her arm.
She cries an echo
from sand bars clean,
untroubled
by the task of harvesting
abundant molluscs.
Elusive echinoderms
charm live victims
to shallow depths,
against the cry of bitterns.
She treads with finite steps,
where sailfins fly
and mermaids die.
She wades between
riptides of fate,
hopes Tangaroa
will find her body.
Copyright © 2015, Nod Ghosh
CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
When the meat and veg of life are difficult to chew, Nod Ghosh finds sanctuary in a gravy of words. Forgotten Skin examines the urge to self-mutilate, while Sailfins relates to when a person chooses death over life.
Write to Heal – Interview by Drem
Writing To Heal Featuring:
Jodine Derena Butler
POSTED ON DECEMBER 21, 2015 BY DREM
Jodine is a fantastic poet and writer from New Zealand. We connected on WordPress early on in my endeavors. We find inspiration in each other’s work. We give each other strength. We both…
Here’s a Q & A I did with Jodine recently that highlights her life’s journey and her Writing To Heal process.
Jodine, to start, where are you from? What’s your life like?
I was born in New Zealand and moved to Cairns, Queensland, Australia in 2011 where I currently reside. I have two dogs, two cats, two adult daughters, three grandsons (and counting), four stepchildren and one awesome husband!
I have been a counsellor, social worker, supervisor, group facilitator, sex worker and more recently a cosmetic tattoo artist at Cosmech Ink, our tattoo business, but I’m too blind, my anxiety goes through the roof and I start to shake. Not good with a tattoo machine in my hand! At the moment I am a stay at home wife and stepmother to two beautiful girls.
And of course, you’re a writer. When did you start writing?
I was introduced to poetry at primary school, like everyone was as part of the curriculum, learning Haiku and Rhyme. I knew I loved writing then. I won a story competition in high school for English at age 13, at Te Awamutu College, in the King Country of New Zealand. I always got top marks for English. I did three undergraduate papers in creative writing, thinking I would apply for the Master of Creative Writing degree at Auckland University. I passed well but I had a meltdown. I wasn’t ready then.
Well, I can see you’re ready to keep writing now! When do you write and how? Is there a specific time of day you set aside to work?
I write whenever I feel words and thoughts are ‘coming to me’. Usually if I am processing a problem or feeling. Age has changed how I write as I have more experience to draw from. In my 20’s, I tended to write more during the day and always in rhyme. The content was more about relationships, trying to understand them and myself in them. My 30’s was more during the night, all night often, and I would experiment with different styles and ways ie: randomly point to a list of words from the dictionary and then work with my unconscious to see what came about. In my 40’s, I did some creative writing classes and learned other tecniques, the names of different styles ie: stream of consciousness, appropriation, list poems etc and began to read more about other poets work ie: Sylvia Plath, Alan Curnow, Wystan Curnow, Sam Hunt, Murray Haddow and Miriam Barr. I wrote less, but better executed.
I used to physically write on paper, then into journals, then on computer and now I write ‘live’ to my blogs via my Android and edit often. I need to print my work out as I have no physical copy but I am always editing.
You have so many different venues to put your work out. You must be writing more often now.
Whenever I feel the words coming. It depends. If I am going through a traumatic time, I write more. As I learn to see and appreciate happiness, I try to write about that rather than problems, but it’s much harder for me however I’m improving all the time.
In a traumatic time, it’s hard to see the light. Why do you continue? What keeps you going and gives you the strength?
I write to heal and it’s good for me and others… To make sense of my childhood, depression (I may have Persistent Depressive Disorder) and trauma (I may also have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I sought the aid of therapy for years to address these issues which reared its ugly head in my earlier relationships. I needed to find a way of articulating my thoughts, feelings and actions in order to heal. I started Head Lines NZ, to encourage others to do the same by promoting mental health awareness in New Zealand.
…Life, love, pain, death. I like to include mythology a lot. Maori, Greek, Irish, Welsh and others. I have written one poem for an American friend Chip Allan of The Pine Ridge Philosopher , where I researched the meaning of a phrase I wanted to include in Comanche in my poem ‘Mother Nature’s Siren Song’ for Poetry Out West. He emailed me a little about where he lived in West Virginia which inspired me.
What dreams do you have for your writing now?
I am reconsidering doing a Masters in Creative Writing at James Cook University. I want to publish a book of poetry, a memoir in poetry of sorts. I also want to publish an Anthology of my New Zealand national poetry E-zine Head Lines NZ. It is open to Kiwis all over the world and I have a wonderful eclectic range of contributors who I would love to see in print.
Her poetry is published on Poetry Out West.
•
Her Promoting Mental Health Project in New Zealand is at Headlines NZ.
•
Her fiction is found on Far North Fiction
•
Her tattoo business and husband’s tattoo art is seen at Cosmech Ink
• Photo creditor is Jason Majewski as seen on Cosmech Ink
